


I. Scraps

by illicio



Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-07-18
Packaged: 2018-02-09 08:14:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1975653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illicio/pseuds/illicio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few scraps of a moment set some unspecified amount of time after the RE:C good end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I. Scraps

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It's...

_"Ah!"_  
In.

...surprising.

_Gasp._  
 _"Drowning?"_

Skin-against-skin...

Out.  
 _"A-aah..._  
...please..."  
In.  
 _"Mmm...?"_

...this purring in his ear.

Out.  
 _"Please-"_

This voice:

_"Haaah... you..._  
...listen to you." 

In.  
 _"Nnh!"_  
Out.

That's what does it.

In.

Puts him here.

Out.

Whimpering and whining;

_"...want it?"_

begging with his body.

_In._  
 _"Aa, aaaahh!"_

Not fair.

Out.

How can someone sound like this?

_"You're shaking."_  
In.  
 _"M-mmn..."_  
Out.

Is this what it's like  
on the other side of Scrap?

_"...Aoba."_  
In.

Does this kid know

Out.

what a refractory period is?

In.

_"N...nnn..."_  
Out.

But he can't last forever.

_"I... I'm..."_  
 _"Nnnk-"_  
In.  
 _"Mmmh!"_

Neither of them can.

 

 

Their bodies give in with flushed faces and shudders; abandoning their carnal rhythm for another kind: Rise. Fall. Rise. Fall. Rise. Fall. Rise. Fall -- breaths that heave in your chest. Aoba lies on his side, eyelashes low; eyes unfocused on nothing as he thinks about how the bed deserves better. It's a nice bed. What if it starts to squeak? He'd die. That would be so-

Crushing warmth envelopes him from behind, squeezing him closer and returning him to the reality of another heat flooding his insides. It feels...

"...so good..." Like the hot murmur against his damp, naked shoulder. "Don't wanna pull out."

Like his face sucked the warmth out the rest of his body and it exploded in his cheeks. Aoba scrunches his nose, slapping one of his hands against arm around him. His fingers curl against it, as if threatening to pry it off. His words squeak like a creaky drawer or something equally non-threatening and not worth worrying about: "You have to!"

"Nooow?" That word is a deep, slow drag; lazy and playful.

But it's a good question.

"Um..." Blue brows knit in thought. "Well..." Obviously it wouldn't be a great idea to leave it in long, but how long is too long? Is there a time frame for this sort of thing? Is it like... ten minutes? Five minutes? How do you tell? "...hey! Don't laugh!"

You can't quite call it laughter: it puffs like air from the nose of the man behind him, who otherwise has no answer. His mouth has gone off to establish a fancy new occupation, too busy weaving kisses through Aoba's hair to bother with any other noise.

Aoba digs his nails into the arm. "Ugh." This is a mess. Seriously. All of this. "I'm gonna need another shower thanks to you." Why couldn't he do this before? Well, actually, he did... but did he have to do it after, too?

A dark whisper pools in his ear: "...I'll come with you."

"Oh no." Aoba stiffens. "Hell no." He tilts a look over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of rowdy blond tufts. "No, no, no! Take it out!"

Sound erupts so sharply it's almost violent: _hahahahahaha!_

But Noiz listens.

He pulls away, rolling onto his back; grinning like a jerk -- which is fitting, because it's precisely what he is. Aoba is a special sort of sullenly-grateful for this genuine laughter. It masked anything else that might have been overwhelmingly embarrassing to hear when their bodies parted.

His body sways uncertainly when he collects himself into something resembling an awkward sit, puffing his cheeks like a weapon to glower at Noiz's closed eyes -- the quiet smile, and an expression that had abandoned all its tension, existing in a state like peace.

Oh.

Aoba's mouth tightens.

One electric green eye opens. "What."

Fuck. "Ah... nothing."

The eye isn't convinced. "Your face doesn't look like it's nothing."

Not only that, Noiz is right: his face is getting hotter.

Oh no.

"No, I'm really going now!"

There's something humiliating about the way he sizes you up: casual appraisal; judging your responses based on previous mental notes. He must feel merciful: he closes his eye and lets the topic escape. "Hurry up. I'll change the bed."

Safe.

As if released, Aoba hurries to the adjunct bathroom.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Noiz keeps his end of the deal: the bedding gets changed.

He also does Aoba the favour of leaving him alone while he cleans up, but he's there when the door opens and Aoba steps out, interrupting his exit by ducking his head to steal a kiss--"Mmmmh?!"--and simultaneously hooking an arm behind him, swiping him--"Whuh!"--out into the bedroom.

The door shuts just in time for Aoba's hands to slam against it, barking, "You jerk!"

It locks.

"Urgh!"

A thoughtful pause. After a moment, the door says: "Cold shower?"

"Shut up!"

"Lie down. I'll be out soon."

"Maybe I will!"

Cohabiting with Noiz is like an exercise in how much whiplash someone can stand before they lose their mind. Aoba inhales deeply, holds the breath, and releases it as he turns from the door.

It's funny how it's not unpleasant.

What does that say about him, anyway?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Not much time passes before additional weight sinks into the bed.

He can barely feel it. Noiz is slim, but he isn't _that_ slim: this is the kind of bed you can set a snobby glass of wine on and jump on the other side. It wouldn't spill a drop. In fact, it w--"What are you doing?!"

Noiz sits beside Aoba's back. Peeling the blanket down isn't strange (that's what usually happens when someone intends to join you under one) but there's a different issue: the fact he's pulling his night shirt up. Aoba's teeth grit as he twists a look at Noiz's face, which may as well have had _are you stupid?_ carved into it.

"You... you--you changed the sheets!"

"And?" Tug.

"That's... " This isn't safe at all!

"Take these off." Another tug.

Aoba tugs back. "And why, pray tell, am I supposed to take them off now?"

"I want to feel you." _Tug._

Counter- _tug._ "You already did that -- more than once!"

"Not that."

"...what?"

"Take them off and I'll show you."

"Well..."

"Just do it."

"Fine, fine."

"Now..."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lights out. Skin-to-skin: a different kind. Their breathing had become stable enough to become a steady rise-and-fall, rise-and-fall, rise-and-fall...

It's peaceful in spite of the minor discomforts: it's warm without clothes; held by the brattiest big spoon who has belligerently lodged an arm beneath his body in his insistence to complete a hug. It's not that there's a problem with this arrangement, but he can't stop thinking about how their bodies line up just right; how it wouldn't take much for this to head in another direction. Where was the switch in Noiz's head? Was it on? Was it off? What the hell triggers it?

Noiz presses his face against Aoba's back, burying it where angel's wings would begin if only appearances weren't deceiving and one of the prettiest faces for light years around wasn't possessed by someone even more filthy and debauched than he himself was.

Time passes quietly.

Eventually, Aoba lifts his voice. "Noiz..."

"Mm."

"Isn't your arm asleep?"

"Asleep?"

In the dark, a small smile spreads across his mouth. Aoba lifts his eyelashes, looking down to a place he can't see: where Noiz's arms are fastened, trapping their bodies together beneath the blanket.

Softly, he says, "Pins and needles."

"Oh, that." Pause. "Yeah. Why?"

"That's your circulation getting cut off."

"I'm fine."

"Come on now." Aoba covers one of Noiz's palms with his hand, squeezing it. His concern is answered with a kiss smashed into the back of his neck, but it fails to deter him. "That can't feel good."

"You always feel good." The words spill against his skin like oil. The long-reaching environmental damage can be found in Aoba's face, which feels like it's acquired a fire.

He also feels the curve of a smile against his shoulder. "You're holding your breath."

"I told you to shut up."

"Did you?"

"Earlier."

"Ahh, then. Maybe I will."

"You're teasing me."

"A little."

This brat...

But the warm feeling building inside him is dangerous when you've spent any amount of time complaining about getting dirty. You can't nurture it. (Noiz would be up for it, but would he ever let him live it down?)

You have to be careful. 

You can get drunk off those types of compliments if you don't watch yourself. 

Who knows what might happen then?


End file.
